Disclaimer : I DO NOT OWN DEATH NOTE OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. FULL CREDIT GOES TO TAKESHI OHBA AND TSUGUMI OHBATA FOR THE CONCEPTION AND MAKING OF THIS AWESOME WORK OF ART.
He smiled.
'So…It ends here, huh?'
It was odd, really. He didn't feel disappointment, he didn't feel rage, he didn't feel…defeat…not any of those…hollow emotions, as he stared into Light Yagami's eyes.
Those eyes, those cold, cruel, manipulative eyes that had led so many innocent people to their doom….
Light Yagami had outsmarted him. It was as simple as that. He didn't know when the realization had struck him. Maybe it was just now, the fact that he was lying down, on the verge of death, and Light Yagami was victorious, unscathed from their deadly battle. Or...maybe it was the first time he'd met him, when he'd looked into those very same eyes, Light Yagami as an innocent student.
From far away, he vividly heard a bell strike, and a sudden image flashed across his head. A chandelier, in the orphanage.
He gasped, it was slowly becoming harder to breathe. They still held their positions, him and his enemy.
"Light….Yagami….."
So he'd finally met his match then, at the hands of this man.
He couldn't really explain it, but he'd had the most exhilarating experience chasing the miniscule trail of evidence that Light had left behind those murders.
He'd felt alive, he'd felt elated, he'd felt, for the first time in many, many years…..something akin to happiness.
And he'd felt afraid of letting it go. Often, he'd wonder what life would be like without this mystery killer, and he would draw a blank. He couldn't process it. The thought was almost revolting, the thought of not pursuing this man, the thought of not making him kneel before justice, to hold him in its iron grip and break his neck with it.
But strangely enough, here he was, on the losing side. Light Yagami wouldn't be brought before justice, then.
Again, the same bell rang, from far off. He looked up. The glass ceiling, beautifully painted, met his gaze. He looked around.
He could spy a small boy, six years old from the sound of his voice and the extent of growth of his pectoral muscles and-
His thoughts were cut short abruptly when he realized the boy was him.
His brows furrowed in curiosity.
Was that really him, all those years ago? Was he really that small, that gullible, that vulnerable so many years back?
He gasped again, and his vision blurred.
Light Yagami came into focus.
For a second, their eyes met, dull, unfathomable black met clear brown.
It was just the two of them, just the two of them in this entire pointless world. This man meant everything to him. This man had opposed him, this man had challenged him, the very same man had defeated him.
'Light Yagami… Light Yagami… Light Yagami… Light Yagami… Light Yagami…'
He didn't know why, but he repeated the name over and over again in his mind. He wanted to imprint it, to engrave it, and he wanted to remember it permanently.
As he continued looking into his eyes, he felt the barrier break. The cold, foggy look left Light Yagami's eyes, to be replaced by raw, tempest emotion.
Victory.
The corners of Light Yagami's lips tugged into an ever so small smile, the sign of victory, the fact that he'd finally outsmarted his last remaining rival.
And simultaneously, the corners of his mouth curled into a smile too…he smiled back at him.
He realized with some remorse that out of all the time they had spent with each other, planning, plotting, scheming, out of all those mind games they had played, this was the only occasion where they had been straightforward. Just plain, simple emotion, and no cruel twists, or quirks.
And with one final heave, he let go. His chest descended slowly, and his eyelids closed one final time.
It was odd, really. He didn't feel disappointment, he didn't feel rage, he didn't feel…defeat…not any of those…hollow emotions.
He felt empty, lost and broken.
And then, he felt nothing.
He sat up slowly, his mind devoid of thoughts.
The air was cold, crisp and dry. He drew in a long breath.
He looked down.
He was clad in some…robes. They were white, flawless and plain. His hands were covered and his feet were adorned in some form of elegant footwear.
With a painful grunt, he stood up, and took in the surroundings.
Crystal flooring with beautiful ornate patterns caught his eye first. Looking around, he realized that he was inside some sort of room, with all the curtains drawn. Light seemed to stream in with careless abandon through all of the windows.
He tried stepping forward. At first, gingerly and then, one step at a time. Soon he was walking casually.
He felt no pain whatsoever, in fact, he fis legs and arms felt…powerful…capable, flexible and strong.
Pulling back his sleeves, he looked at his fingers.
Long and elegantly shaped, pale white fingers looked back at him. He flexed his arm, clenched and unclenched his fingers.
He looked up, and to his surprise, found a spotless mirror.
'How strange, it wasn't there before now…'
With an uncharacteristic rising heartbeat, he made his way towards the mirror, stood in front of it, and looked it his reflection.
That first thing that caught his eye was some sort of… white helmet, on the side his face like a mask. He tried poking it gently with his fingers. It felt hard and unyielding.
Other than that, It was the same arms, and the same hair. The same seedy stature and the thin build.
Oh, there was a difference though, a major one at that.
No more were those dark obsidian eyes looking back at him. Instead, a deep shade of green, clear as glass had replaced them.
And two lines, two dark black lines seemed to extend from the bottom of his eyes all the way under his chin, giving him a sad, mournful look.
Hearing slow, measured footsteps, he turned, and his cloak seemed to make a likeable 'swish' as he did so.
A tall, thin man came into view.
He was wearing much the same clothes that he himself was adorned in, and a lopsided smile was playing across his lips. With slicked-back hair a shade of dark brown, a distinct jaw line and a handsomely chiseled face, the man opened his mouth to speak.
"Welcome…Ulquiorra Schiffer."
In an probabilities, simply a one-shot.